


Count To Infinity

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Car Accidents, Drinking, Fights, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Nightmares, Religious Guilt, Road Trips, Sharing Clothes, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Josh doesn’t get on his nerves anymore; he chews his gum and occasionally checks his phone. Tyler thinks of the seatbelt wrapped around his neck.“Do we have a route?”Josh keeps tapping on the screen.“We have a map.”





	Count To Infinity

Tyler has never been this close to committing a murder.

His mental health can’t boast of stability, but now he’s about to go wild. He just has to find a shovel to bury a corpse of his neighbor who can’t keep his mouth shut.

His mother is interested and alerted.

“What does it mean _we’re dating?”_ she asks.

“It means… Dating?”

Tyler stays aside from the conversation, all he can do is regret that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut himself. Tyler twists his wrists until they crack, he holds his breath until his head goes dizzy — maybe his faint would’ve distracted them from having this heart-to-heart talk. It usually works.

But it’s not a talk about Tyler’s mental health now.

It’s not a talk about his car’s broken door, it’s not a talk about his stolen car radio, about the silence that now turns this vehicle to a cemetery on wheels. Tyler doesn’t mention that he was suffocating himself with a seatbelt again, he was planning to go home and make a noose, but he didn’t. Instead, he went to Guitar Center to buy a ukulele — and met the dude who was working there, that _oh, I’m Josh, I’m sort of your neighbor… No, I don’t know a crap about this ukulele, have you ever considered buying drums? No? Sad._ Josh looked funny and dumb, and Tyler bought that ukulele and waited until the end of Josh’s shift to make sure that they were neighbors.

Tyler is just antisocial.

It took a couple of Taco Bell meetings and a Noah’s Flood Of Tyler’s Heart to bring Josh to his parents’ house with a rescue mission. When Josh said that he was going to help, Tyler didn’t comprehend what that was meant to be.  

Now Josh says they’re dating.

Just because Tyler told him that he hated the Ohio State University, hated his basketball scholarship, and that he wanted to travel across the world to challenge his disorders.

Tyler’s mother bares her teeth, Tyler’s father clutches at his heart; Tyler hasn’t planned to become an orphan with two younger brothers and a way too curious sister on his neck. Fainting seems so appealing since the situation can’t get even worse. Again.

Tyler manages to pull himself together.

“Mrs. Joseph,” Josh says politely. “You better sit on the chair since Tyler and I haven’t cleaned the couch after the last time we were sitting on it naked.”

Tyler’s mother jumps up to her feet in a rush.

“Dear, you didn’t have to clarify.”

Tyler can’t suppress a hysterical giggle. Seeing his strict parents this confused _is a thing,_ or Tyler is just a terrible son who can’t properly fight their deeply religious standards, as they call them. It’s not only about the Church on Sundays, it’s about a lot of embarrassing things they’re trying to close their eyes at. Sexual education is the Devil’s teaching, children are given by God, heaven-sent and heaven-taken if something goes wrong. Date a girl only when you feel you’re ready to marry her and give up to carnal pleasures only when God proclaims you star-crossed lovers.

All the acts of _self-entertainment_ have been forbidden by Lord.

All the wet dreams equal to a sin and will lead to a punishment.

Tyler was growing up ashamed of being _like this,_ of his libido and stuff; but luckily he had his peers and their experience to figure out his condition was normal for the rest of the world. Tyler has never believed that touching himself would make him go blind one day — his mother only said that this generation will never be saved and grounded him for a week. It didn’t break Tyler’s spirit. When his parents figured out the source of his knowledge — public school — they started to homeschool him and his siblings.

Now, it’s funny to see his parents ashamed.

His mother takes a mug from the kitchen countertop, but Josh raises his hand.

“Better take another one. I’m not clarifying, but…”

The mug falls on the floor and shatters while Tyler’s mother wipes her fingers on her apron.

“I hope you’re learning from your mistakes, son,” Tyler’s father says.

And Tyler says —

“I’m dropping out of college.”

And Josh adds —

“We’re gonna travel to know each other better.”

Tyler can read his parents’ glances: they want to call him a heathen, they want him to fall to his bruised knees and pray like he did after all of the times he couldn’t resist to his dirty desires and after all of the mornings he was waking up to his underwear sticking to his skin. _A real man shouldn’t be this spineless,_ his father said.

Tyler wanted to run away from embarrassment.

Now he has a chance.

 

***

Tyler’s parents have planned up his life until his death. And his afterlife too, probably. They call it stability, they found him _a future wife_ — younger than him, just waiting for her to turn legal to get married. Otherwise, Jesus would be mad. They didn’t care that _Tyler_ was mad — apparently, you don’t have to worry about anything if your future wife is so good at cooking.

It’s harsh.

Now Tyler’s sitting in Josh’s van since his own car still requires repairment; he doesn’t dare dream about a new car radio for at least next hundred years in this timeline.

“So, how was it?” Josh is preoccupied with driving rather Tyler’s answer.

Tyler hits the ukulele strings.

“I packed my things and left.”

The wave of delirium is gone, Tyler would have never gathered enough courage to talk to his parents, to ask them to understand him for once. His mother wasn’t crying as if she was just going to crop him out of all of their family photos. His father wasn’t trying to beat him up even though the news came out all of the sudden. Even for Tyler; he knew that leaving the house would be difficult, but this was bound to happen sooner or later. Tyler couldn’t give any promises about his upcoming wedding in three years or four, he didn’t want to name his firstborn after his father. Or, he didn’t want to have kids at all.

Josh doesn’t get on his nerves anymore; he chews his gum and occasionally checks his phone. Tyler thinks of the seatbelt wrapped around his neck.

“Do we have a route?”

Josh keeps tapping on the screen.

“We have a map.”

“Right,” Tyler sighs.

He’s not used to traveling in the state of anxiety — he’s not used to leaving his comfort zone at all; he doesn’t even know where it is anymore. The trees pass by along with Tyler’s thoughts, a green kaleidoscope outside and a gray swamp inside of Tyler’s head, all the colors eaten by despair. He denies it as hard as he can.

At first, Tyler is afraid that Josh is a maniac, then _he hopes_ that Josh is going to stop the car and kill him in the bushes — _he’s a big disappointment_ , will be engraved on Tyler’s gravestone.

Josh speeds up.

The road is shrouded in spring twilights.

Tyler has inhaled enough of the gasoline fumes for his head to begin to ache; he’s about to die of fright when Josh suddenly turns the car to the side and parks it near the forest, in the area that is free of any trees.

“Sorry, dude,” Josh yawns. “I need couple hours of sleep. Can’t keep driving.”

He doesn’t even ask if _Tyler_ can drive instead.

Tyler should’ve stayed home. Or never leave his dorm, or never leave his tree house when he was a kid.

Before he opens his mouth to answer, Josh is snoring quietly, leaning to the side window; he could’ve moved to a backseat and lie there, but it seems that he’s not determined to make a long stop. Tyler carefully unclips the seatbelt and feels his spine crack as he backs his shoulders. The last time he stayed in a car for so long was when his father took him out for a fishing; they didn’t find anything in the lake, they had to sleep in a wooden cabin, covered with blankets. Tyler was fourteen, and he was dreaming of building a rocket ship or counting to infinity, dreaming big.

Sometimes, growing up washes away all the specific features of the soul. Tyler wonders if his _sometimes_ has come.

His eyelids are heavy, his bones are made of lead as he throws his head back and closes his eyes. He’s a runaway for his parents from now on, he only has his card with his savings from his part-time jobs. So does Josh, he’s shared this secret with Tyler.

Tyler’s heartbeat drowns out the chirring of cicadas.

 

***

Tyler jolts awake to the onslaught of panic.

His body’s still sleeping, but his mind is awake.

It usually makes him fall off his bed, crawl or run into the wall, but now he doesn’t recognize his surroundings; Tyler thrashes, and hums, and dies when he feels somebody’s hands pressing him down to his seat.

“You kidnapped me!”

There’s a worried Josh, his wet curls stick to his forehead; the flashlight on his phone is turned on, piercing Tyler’s head with the needle-thin ray.

“No, no, I didn’t — did our prank go this far? Hey? Hey, man, wake up.”

With demons laughing down both sides of the car, the nightmare releases Tyler out of its grip. His breathing is shallow, his body’s trembling.

“Hey? Tyler? I can drive you back home if you want,” Josh is babbling, at the same time turning on the lights in the car.

Tyler shakes his head.

“I didn’t kidnap you, don’t you remember?” Josh shoves his hand into the backseat. “See? Here’s your ukulele, you bought it in the store where I was working. You took it with us, man, I swear it wasn’t a kidnapping.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler sees the shadows outside. His phone says that it’s almost 3AM.

“I… I scared you, sorry,” Tyler pants. “This happens when I’m stressed.”

Josh nods.

“Yeah, I guessed.”

Josh doesn’t bother him with inappropriate questions; Tyler unwraps the seatbelt from his tensed up throat.

He can’t hide from himself.

 

***

Josh drives down I-70 W; their headlights is the only source of light in the sea of darkness. Josh stops near a motel with the simplest name _Motel 6_ and gets out of the car.

“Welcome to Indianapolis. We need to get a decent rest, dude.”

Tyler is still shaken and shocked as they enter the shabby hall. The concierge is obviously suffering from a hangover; her eyes are red, Tyler pinches his nostrils to block out the odor of a cheap alcohol. He knows this smell so well; not all of their neighbors were as religious as his family or as nice as Josh. _Nice,_ Tyler thinks bitterly.

“We only have one vacant room. For one person, with one bed,” the woman says dryly.

Tyler thinks it’s his Judgement Day. Night, more precisely. He doesn’t want to sleep in the car again as much as he doesn’t want to share a bed with Josh. But the owner doesn’t want to lose the clients it seems; so they pay a double price for just one room _for two._ Tyler carries their bags while whey go down the row of identical doors.

“This one-person room can also be called a half-person room,” Josh laughs as they sneak inside.

There’s only one bed, one table, one everything. What could he expect from a two star shelter.

Josh’s puns are terrible.

“Take the bed, I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” Tyler mutters.

He doesn’t listen to Josh’s answer, going to check the bathroom; low price means low quality, there’s mold in the corners, in between the tiles. Toilet seat used to be white, but now it has turned to gray; Tyler is sure he’s gonna catch a nasty disease if he only sits down.

“Well, great.”

Hot water is mostly warm, but Tyler is not in the mood for showering. He looks at the mirror — it looks back at him. Tyler’s reflection says he died a while ago, choked himself, his neck is red, and his fingernails are bitten; his skin glisters with a sheen of sweat, his sunken eyes are empty of any emotions.

Well, Josh can consider him a maniac as well.

Tyler washes his face with stale water.

When he goes out, it’s Josh’s turn to take the bathroom; Tyler hugs his backpack and sits on the bed until Josh comes out. Josh’s hair is wet and so is his t-shirt, navy-blue that matches the circles under Tyler’s eyes.

Josh shakes the water off his hands.

“Feeling fresh?”

“Never better.”

“Good,” Josh tugs at the bedsheet, pulling it from underneath Tyler’s ass.

Tyler stares at the black lines on his wrist, masking the lines of an opposite color. He used to pray to make them go away, but they’re inside of his mind.

“...took you from the nest, huh?”

“What?” Tyler raises his head.

Josh is building a bed on the floor, taking one of the pillows.

“Not gonna bother your sleep, sir.”

“What?” Tyler’s brain is lagging. “No, dude, I can sleep on the floor…”

Josh shrugs.

“The floor is big. Bigger than the bed, at least.”

Josh lies down and shoves the pillow under his head; he looks at Tyler and crosses his arms over his stomach.

“Wow. It’s an orthopedic carpet, can you believe?”

Tyler cackles into his fist.

“I’m gonna try it too then.”

Tyler hops over the bed, grabbing a pillow and a blanket; the floor is not so clean, but Tyler’s pride doesn’t let him use the bed while Josh is breaking his spine like a monster that’s about to tickle Tyler’s toe.

Neither of them takes the mattress so Tyler’s shoulder blades begin to ache fairly soon.

This kind of discomfort keeps him anchored.

 

***

When Tyler opens his eyes, the sun is up and so is Josh; there’s a steaming plastic cup of coffee on the bedside table next to Tyler. Tyler doesn’t even like this _dirt water,_ he prefers energy drinks, but they make him all jittery.

“Wakey-wakey,” Josh slurps on his own drink.

Tyler sits up, gripping onto the side of the bed; his head is pounding — he’s either slept too little or too much.

“Morning.”

Josh takes their pillows and covers and throws them back onto the bed.

“I know what we’re gonna do today, man. We’re going to the show in Black River Falls, Wisconsin. I bought the tickets,” he unfolds the map to check the route. “If we start the trip now, we’re gonna arrive by the evening.”

Tyler yawns.

“What time is it?”

“Six-forty.”

“Great,” Tyler falls back onto the floor. “Kill me.”

“You’re doing it yourself man, I don’t even need to do anything,” Josh hands him a paper cup. “Drink this magic potion. And brush your teeth, yeah. And shave.”

Tyler scratches the scruff on his chin.

“I’m not sure about the latter. I decline.”

“Are you allergic to that shaving gel?” Josh narrows his eyes.

“I’m allergic to the razors that aren’t my own.”

Josh turns to the window.

“Whatever.”

 

***

Tyler’s paranoia is his dark passenger.

He watches Josh’s movements closely as he drives; Josh’s fingers are calloused and nimble, they could’ve been white tubes squeezing Tyler’s throat. Tyler’s skin is heating up, he’s sweaty even when he takes off his windcheater; Josh’s kindness can be just a trick. Tyler waits for the jaws of the Venus flytrap to snap and eat him alive like a bug.

It’s just a matter of time.

“Relax,” Josh interrupts Tyler’s destructive thoughts. “I’m not gonna lay a finger on you, I’m… I’m not interested. Your parents think I’m an ass, and well that’s right. I shouldn’t have joked like that, I’ve probably insulted your religion, haven’t I?”

Tyler tears his eyes away from the window.

“Too late man. I’ve become the king of blasphemy at the age of sixteen.”

“Not even gonna ask what happened back then.”

“A very fast and awkward act of self-knowledge.”

Josh is unflappable.

“Should have guessed.”

Tyler felt terrible when he started questioning his sexuality; then he was frustrated because he couldn’t get an answer. He found a dozen, at least, and not all of them were _traditional_ ones.

Sitting in Josh’s van, Tyler feels rebellious even though this is the feeblest attempt to be independent. Josh’s voice flows into his ears again —

“We can always turn back if you want.”

A fawn dashes across the highway.

“No,” Tyler says. “I’m curious.”

 

***

The show is mostly about a stinky crowd and the bass resonating through Tyler’s bones; when he can’t take a breath in the pit, Josh leads him to the bar to hang out there.

“Wanna drink something?”

Tyler can barely hear Josh, but he nods, receiving a thumb-up.

They’re doing shots of whiskey a second later; now the music hits through the invisible wall. Tyler is getting tipsy after the first gulp, but he still doesn’t like that the lead singer says _how is the left side doing?_ Tyler is on the _right_ side. He’d never let himself be this stupid onstage.

Tyler doesn’t drink much, it’s not his first experience — he tasted the beer for the first time when he was fifteen, and it was an expired one with a terrible flavor. Tyler’s parents didn’t know.

Josh doesn’t know.

Tyler finishes the second shot, but not even alcohol can inhibit his nervousness. He would have taken a sip of straight chlorine now.

“Having fun?” Josh lets another shot skate across the table.

Tyler shakes his head.

“Too loud.”

“Dude, stop acting like a seventy-years-old man.”

An ice cube falls onto Josh’s t-shirt.

“You’re seven then. Months old,” Tyler slurs.

He wants to stop drinking already.

They can finally find a relatively quiet place in the back of the venue and watch the show away from crazy fans going rampage near the barricade; they’re so close to the exit Tyler can’t wait until it’s over. This band’s behavior is everything Tyler would’ve never accepted.

“Do you know the lyrics?” he shouts into Josh’s ear.

“No!” Josh shouts back. “I don’t even know these dudes, I just googled the show.”

This makes Tyler want to wait for the encore.

 

***

When they leave the venue, Tyler stumbles over a drunk guy and makes him spill his beer all over himself; Tyler wants to apologize, but he’s pressed to the wall in seconds, with three or four dudes gathering around him.

“Need glasses, bitch?”

These words are being spat right into Tyler’s face while the guy’s hands are twisting his collar. Other fans are leaving the venue, too high on their post concert depression or pills they were kiss-sharing; Tyler doesn’t say a word, he just grabs both of his opponent’s wrists and rips his fingers off his t-shirt. He’s stronger than he thought. He’s stronger than the other dude thought. Tyler hits him in the face with his knuckles crackling at the force.

“Need spare teeth, _bitch?”_ Tyler doesn’t cuss too often, but now it feels right.

Josh leaves the venue suddenly, with an innocent _did I miss something?_ Oh right, he went to use the bathroom a few minutes ago — Tyler didn’t even notice his absence. Josh is oblivious, and the blade of a butterfly knife twinkles like a silver lightning an inch away from Josh’s ribs.

“Josh!” Tyler hollers.

The dude’s drunkenness slows him down, he’s got a terrible aim — Josh throws his forearm out in front of him to block out the hit. It leaves a scratch on his skin, but he manages to knock the knife out of the attacker’s hand. It falls next to Tyler’s shoes; he can’t come up with anything better than kicking it as far as he can, until it disappears in the drain.

There’s the blood, and Josh winces every so often, but he almost manages to _calm down_ two of their attackers while Tyler backs off and slides down the wall.

Josh spits onto the asphalt.

The roaring of the engines is a weird plot twist.

 _Bikers,_ dings in Tyler’s head. _We need to hightail._

They’re coming too fast — six Harleys or something equally shiny — Tyler doesn’t think of it too much; their foes freeze along with their viewers, somebody drops their phone they’ve been using for filming, not for calling the police.

The drops of blood on the asphalt get mixed up with motor oil.

“Sup kids,” says the biggest dude. He looks like a child of love of Hulk Hogan and Santa Claus.

Another one adds —

“Isn’t it a bedtime?”

God, are all of them actually _twins?_ Tyler’s head rushes when he gets up and tries to cover Josh with his shoulder. The spirit of the fight evaporates.

“You,” _Hulk Claus_ takes off his leather bandana. “Bandage it,” he tosses it at Josh who can’t catch it with his injured hand and is forced to bend to pick it up. “And work on your right hook.”

His five friends laugh.

“And you,” he points his finger at Tyler. Tyler’s heart gets stuck in his throat. “Never be afraid of who you are. You _know_ what I mean.”

His five friends nod.

“The show’s over. If I see your asses here again I swear I’ll construct another Human Centipede, and you know I’m not kidding,” these words are addressed to the bullies who are trying to hide in the crowd now.

Tyler prays for everything to be over with this positive note, but Josh says —

“Can we take a picture with you?”

He’s already holding his phone in his hand.

Hulk Claus lets out a prolonged _ho-ho-ho._

“Sure boys,” he grins when Tyler is about to faint.

And Josh is silly enough to give Hulk his phone for a selfie, throwing his arm over Tyler’s shoulder and posing with a rock-n-roll sign and with his tongue sticking out. Tyler can read his own facial expression on the frontal camera like _help me._ But it’s a good picture, and the biker doesn’t even break Josh’s phone, giving it back to him afterwards. Then, there’s the line of guys and girls who want to get a picture too. While everyone is busy with this sudden meet-and-greet, Josh leads Tyler back to the car.

“I think I’m still not sober.”

“Same,” Tyler says.

“We can just park our car a bit farther and sleep there.”

Josh is still holding a bandana pressed to his forearm.

Tyler doesn’t mind spending another night in the van with him.

Maybe he’s changing.

 

***

 _Alcohol is even better than sleeping pills,_ Tyler thinks as he wakes up. The sun creeps up through the windshield, and Josh’s hand is thrown over Tyler’s torso. Despite yesterday’s terrible show and an absurd fight, Tyler feels more numb than anxious.

“Josh,” Tyler shakes him. “Wake up.”

“Grab a brush and put a little make-up,” Josh whispers and rolls over onto his side. Then he shoves a piece of gum into his mouth, giving the rest of the pack to Tyler.

Tyler huffs.

“I’m serious.”

Then he sees Josh’s bandaged hand and sighs.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m awake,” Josh stretches. He checks his phone as soon as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. “Huh. No service.”

Tyler unlocks his own device.

“Yeah.”

“Could’ve watched a movie,” Josh utters.

“Or porn.”

“Or porn… Wait, what?”

“Gotcha,” Tyler laughs and claps his hands like a kid.

Josh gives him a thoughtful glance.

“I can start a tickle fight, you know.”

Tyler raises his hands up.

“Only after the marriage.”

Then he sits up on the mattress and climbs into the passenger seat, letting Josh know that he’s ready to continue their road trip.

 

***

Good days are merged with bad ones, and staying locked in the van with Josh is a challenge for Tyler. Sometimes he can battle his personality, sometimes he can’t — he’s forced to bury his anger issues six feet under the layers of self-conviction. Tyler sees a foggy substance with red eyes in his sleep, in the mirrors when he’s still half-awake.

Tyler’s mental instability is a thing Josh should’ve considered before taking him on the ride. All the words are cobwebs, and now it’s time for Tyler’s redemption.

Here they are, pretending and trying to see the water instead of blood they’re drinking.

Tyler feels sick watching the same landscapes over and over again, but he’s escaped a few rage-traps already. Josh sings the song under his breath; Tyler doesn’t like disco from the 80th even though he was born in the end of the 80th. Mostly _because of that._

Josh kills him with a headshot of the words.

“Enjoy every moment of your life, man.”

There’s not too much to enjoy, but there’s not too much to grieve over either so Tyler suppresses another bout of nausea caused by his nervousness. He doesn’t understand what’s going on when Josh slows down and waves his hand.

“Come on, dude, you’ll be driving,” Josh gets out of the van for reposition. “You can pick the music, the radio station, the route. Whatever you want.”

This is a new level of trust.

Tyler now is _indeed_ taking a part in it.

It takes a while for Tyler to get used to the size of a car he’s driving; he begins to enjoy it even, checking for the gas stations and hash houses passing by. Josh reads a book, Tyler squints his eyes at the title while the highway is empty.

“Fight Club?”

“Yeah,” Josh turns the page. He’s still in the beginning; Tyler wants to blabber out all of the spoilers but contains himself.

“Didn’t know you were going to find the time for reading.”

“I’m still curious why you keep carrying a souvenir Bible in your backpack,” Josh says, propping his head with his fist.

“Waiting for the day when I’ll meet some crazed fanatics,” Tyler wants to just laugh it off. “Gonna be their Messiah, you know.”

“Never thought you were one of them,” Josh points out. “Just asked.”

Tyler watches the road again.

“Why did you let me drive?”

“Because I trust you.”

“So optimistic.”

“Not gonna survive otherwise.”

Tyler looks at Josh’s hand, at the tree growing there with Josh’s ligaments as roots and branches.

“Why did you get it?”

Josh follows Tyler’s glance.

“I just like trees.”

His answer is so simple this makes Tyler smile with the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. When you scream in the forest, the trees never scream back at you.”

Tyler doesn’t mention that he even has a tattoo with religious meaning. Roman numerals, covering a white mark left on his arm after _playing_ with a paper cutter. Josh doesn’t ask.

The air smells of pine trees, the car jumps up on a small bump; Josh almost drops his book when he says —

“I like your Facebook bio.”

“That’s an embarrassing confession,” Tyler deadpans.

“Son, brother, piano for mother,” Josh quotes. “This is so… So _you,_ you know?”

Tyler doesn’t know.

“I’ve always wanted to delete my profile.”

Car radio hisses at his words.

“I’d accept your friend request,” Josh says after a moment of silence.

 

***

Going to a Spring Festival in Lawrence is Tyler’s idea; Josh is surprised by his enthusiasm and an almost ten-hour journey, even though he doesn’t know the bands again. They park their van and check the doors before going to take their places in the concert area. It’s an open-air show, and Tyler has never been happier to realize that the music can also mean freedom, not only small venues with terrible drinks and stale air.

“I think I’m happy, Josh,” Tyler can’t believe it so he covers his face with his hands. “I’m _happy.”_  

Josh hugs him wordlessly, like a clumsy bear with a scratchy beard, and Tyler is intoxicated on this atmosphere. The music is still loud, and the people around are still drunk, but this time Tyler feels like one of them; he’s not even afraid to surf through the crowd to make it to the barricade along with Josh.

When another band takes over the main stage, they’re losing themselves, they’re even jokingly slow-dancing when the time comes. They have cans full of cheap beer again, but it tastes better with the spoonfuls of starlight dissolved in it.

Tyler doesn’t want to leave this state, _his_ state.

Even the motels here are cleaner.

They don’t stop doing crazy things while they’re still in Lawrence, they go to a local tattoo-parlor and both get tattooed. A small X behind Josh’s ear and a small X on Tyler’s bicep; this is something Tyler would’ve called a _star-crossed_ if he was bold enough. Josh offers to celebrate the beginning of their official friendship; they go to the restaurant and buy a traditional Chicken-Fried Steak along with an iconic Ad Astra Ale.

For the first time, Tyler realizes that it’s worth it to stay alive. And later, when they’re lying in the back of their van again, Josh gives Tyler his blanket and says —

“Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

 

***

Josh says that they have to move, because _dude, it’s been a week_ , and because _we can always get back if you want, okay?_

Tyler is reluctant, but he agrees.

It takes four hours and a road sign _Welcome to Omaha,_ and Tyler feels like a part of him is lost in Kansas. Maybe it’s just one of his mood swings.

They’re going to the club on their first night here; they’re getting wasted again, this alcohol is different from all the drinks Tyler has ever had, and he’s not sure if he likes it. They manage to lose each other on the dancefloor, Tyler doesn’t see a sign of Josh anywhere near.

Tyler chugs down another cocktail, he hasn’t eaten so it hits him real hard tonight.

“Josh?” Tyler calls a couple more times.

Natural needs make him correct his tracking.

There’s a lot of sweaty bodies as Tyler makes his way to a bathroom. When he washes his hands and takes a glimpse at himself in the mirror, he sees the black cloud surrounding him, the eyes are red, but delusion disappears as soon as Tyler blinks. He takes a deep breath. Too much alcohol. He needs to find Josh.

But that’s when he meets a girl in a too tight dress, too high heels, everything about her is a bit too beautiful, her smell is sweetly-fruitish. He thinks he recognizes her, they’ve danced a while ago, she was laughing and nuzzling his shoulder.

He doesn’t remember her name. She should’ve misunderstood him.

He even thinks that this is girls’ bathroom, but then he looks around and proves himself wrong.

Before he coordinates himself, she pushes him into the stall and kisses him on the mouth; Tyler wants to _earn_ more from her, but her lipstick is as red as blood so he ducks his head. He’s not even hard, he can’t disgrace himself when she unbuckles his belt, ruffling Tyler’s hair then putting both of his hands on her head. Tyler combs his fingers through her silky strands, gingerly-brown, and she has amazing breasts, amazing mouth and probably amazing soul, but _Tyler’s_ soul is dirty. He leans against the tiled wall, unsure if he’s gonna make it through this night conscious. Tyler bites into her neck and she moans, lowering her hand to his crotch.

She whispers into his ear _come to me, my good Christian boy_ or he’s just misheard her since his head is so busy thinking. This phrase is repulsive; Tyler tugs at the hem of his t-shirt when the girl kneels in front of him and is about to pull his briefs down his thighs.

She doesn’t have tattoos or gauges.

This is how Tyler’s brain works, his pants are still undone when he excuses himself and pushes her away softly. She pouts, she fixes her hair as he sees her out of the corner of his eye.

He needs to find Josh.

And _oh_ — he does.

Josh is chatting with a guy, so lovely Tyler almost throws up. Their heads are turned towards each other, their lips are about to connect when Tyler breaks their intimacy, slamming his palms on the table between them. And yes — Josh offers this dude to _spend the night at my hotel room in the corner of the street._ But there’s one tiny detail — it’s _their_ hotel room.

“Josh. We’re leaving,” Tyler demands.

Josh clearly doesn’t understand what he’s being asked for, so Tyler has to drag him out of the table by the back of his polo shirt. Tyler gives the other dude a wide smile, mouthing a _bye,_ and maneuvers Josh to the exit.

“What? Tyler? What’s going on?”

Josh’s breathing turns to a fog, but his words are still as solid as rock.

Tyler is fuming, Josh has abandoned him to flirt with a dude, and it was a _conscious_ decision.

“You’re not acting like a friend, Josh, I thought we were friends, but darn it. Do you think I’m dumb and deaf? You were going to have s-sex in our room, and did you think about me? What was I supposed to do? To hide under the bed or take a stroll ‘til the morning?”

Tyler’s voice swooshes throughout the parking lot behind the building. He and Josh have never given any promises to each other; it makes Tyler feel bitter.

“Our room, huh,” Josh’s eyes are dark and — Tyler can swear — sad. “I thought you were going to have fun with that hot chick all night long. What? Do you think I’m blind? No, no, dude I don’t like these rules.”

Now Tyler is confused even more.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know,” Josh is obviously holding his anger back. “I wasn’t going to just sit there cockblocked and wait until you finish and come back to me. I am not your _property_ , got it? And you know what? Button up your pants. Your religious double-standards are just wonderful. Well done, bro.”

Maybe Tyler is still too drunk or maybe Josh is still too close to him — Tyler doesn’t think, his palm just swats across Josh’s face and makes his teeth clank against each other. The sound echoes through an empty parking lot, Tyler’s hand is burning as he presses it to his chest. It might burn a hole in his heart.

Josh doesn’t think, too.

Tyler doesn’t see the punch coming, he only feels the aftermath — the pain in the bridge of his nose and the wetness on his lower face. Tyler bends over, holding his stinging palm underneath his stinging nose. The strike wasn’t even this hard, Tyler’s blood vessels are just weak. Tyler can’t react properly, his t-shirt gets soaked in red in seconds; he can’t lift his head up mostly because he doesn’t want Josh to see him like this. But well, at least it has made him sober up instantly.

“Tyler? Tyler, crap, I’m sorry,” Josh’s evilous intonations are long gone. “Lemme see, hey? I didn’t mean to… Well, I mean you’re an asshole, but hey, who isn’t?”

Tyler sniffles from both nosebleed and a nearing hysteria.

 _“You_ aren’t.”

“Me? Oh, come on, Tyler, please. Let’s go home?”

Josh is trying to soothe him, Josh is everywhere, but Tyler can’t handle it. He didn’t deserve it in the first place, it’s not his fault that he’s been raised like this, it’s not his fault that inside he still thinks that the world is gonna end if he throws the Bible away.

“I may be one of the fanatics, Josh, but it’s not a _fucking_ fight club,” Tyler’s nose is clogged as he speaks. “No worries, the room is all yours now.”

He zips his pants up with a shaking hand.

Josh keeps spilling apologies while Tyler takes his backpack out of the backseat. He leaves a chain of bloodstains on the asphalt and in the car, but it’s Josh’s problem from now on.

“Tyler. Please. Stay.”

“Don’t pretend that you give a shit about me,” Tyler presses the back of his hand to his nose. It’s still bleeding sluggishly. “Better learn to read faster.”

These are the last words he says to Josh, and the guilt is going to smash him in three… two… one… _wow,_ he’s lucky. He leaves a dejected Josh sit on the ground next to the van, leaning to the tire.

Josh doesn’t have the right to stop him.

 

***

Tyler tries to keep his head raised proudly since the t-shirt on his chest is all ruined. He almost wants to take it off right there and then, but walking down a barely lit road half naked is probably even worse than walking there all bloodied. Maybe this smell wouldn’t attract any wild and hungry mammals.

Tyler hopes he’s not gonna break his ukulele in his backpack.

His plan is make it to the nearest motel and clean himself up, but he can’t get a proper internet connection to check the maps. Then he thinks that hitchhiking is a good idea; he waves his hand at the lonely cars — three or four — and asks the drivers to show him the nearest stops. But with his luck and with his battered facial features they either think he’s a loser-whore or refuse to talk to him. Tyler gets questions, variating from _how much for the night_ to _have you killed anybody?_

So Tyler is forced to trudge down the roadside until he sees a gas station and then a motel that represents a castle of salvation for him now. He pays for one room with one bed — exactly what he needs — and no one asks him what happened.

Tyler is a pro at running away from responsibilities.

He tosses his bloodied t-shirt into the corner of the room and passes out on a rotten mattress.

 

***

Tyler’s life goes even more downhill.

This is how he calls it as he finds himself in a bar, befriending his fourth or fifth shot by the courtesy of the man who’s sitting on the stool next to him. _Downhill._ Tyler rolls down with the weight of his sorrows; he might find himself in the gutter by the morning, and _oh God_ — he hopes it’s his last night.

“Bottoms up, sweetie,” the man murmurs.

Tyler’s throat is parched, he’s about to fire-breathe.

A sweaty palm creeps up his inner thigh, praise is just a formality. Tyler hates it, he’s slipping, but he keeps drinking; his parents were right — _people only want to use you and throw you out like a waste._ Tyler is sozzled, he tries to calculate how many of the Seven Deadly Sins he’s crossed yet. He lets the shot slide across the counter like Josh did, Josh is a terrible teacher — misplace a few letters and you’ll get a _cheater._ How funny, Tyler thinks. Mistakes are so educating.

“Wanna go to my place?”

Alcohol in Tyler’s system nods.

He’s too drunk to discern the faces, he can only see a black cloud of insanity with the red eyes of the Devil. If he goes with a man, it’s gonna be his personal sacrifice. Tyler’s mind is too open, he’s sure that the bartender wasn’t going to warn him if there was a drug in his glass. Or a pill that has made his brakes break.

Greedy hands massage his neck and his shoulders; Tyler gives up to vertigo, leans into the embrace.

“Holy crap man, how did you manage to get this shitfaced?”

This, and a following shake makes Tyler blink; the hands on him are replaced with a different pair, the voice is replaced as well.

“Can you walk?”

“He’s going with me —”

“You wish.”

Tyler gets dragged out of the table, pulled upright on his feet; he can only get a hold on Josh, who throws his arm over Tyler’s waist.

“Hey, hey, who the Hell are you?” Tyler’s almost-a-partner totters towards them. “He was going to give me a head for twenty bucks, I don’t mind you to be his next client, but…”

 _Oh_ , Tyler thinks blankly. _Amazing._

It’s a lie, but he doesn’t want to scare Josh with his horribly jumbled speech.

“But? Look at him — do you really want to scrub his barf off your dick?” Josh is non-committal, guiding Tyler to the exit.

The man blocks their path. Other people in the bar are forming a circle around them, waiting for an interesting content to film on their phones. Nothing ever changes.

“It’s consensual.”

Tyler sways, Josh laughs at the man’s face.

“Find your own whore,” is the next insult.

“You know, you’re right,” Josh frowns and helps Tyler lean against the wall. “You’re right, yeah. Not gonna bother you,” Josh turns to the exit, over passing them. Josh flashes a smile and winks at Tyler before whipping around abruptly and punching the man right in the jaw.

People gasp, the man covers his face with his hands.

“I’m working on my right hook,” Josh informs the defeated.

Before some smartass calls the police, Josh grabs Tyler by the sleeve and makes him run out of the bar. It’s like a marathon down the jelly-like ground that makes the soles of Tyler’s shoes stick to it. They flee faster not to let their pursuer catch them off guard; Tyler’s legs are wobbling, but he doesn’t let himself kiss the ground in front of Josh. Night air stretches along with reality, Tyler is perspiring although he’s cold; he sees iridescent flares synchronized with his heartbeat. His lungs are about to explode despite his basketball past.

“T-thank you,” he doubles over to get his wind back.

He can only see Josh’s feet when he says —

“You are welcome.”

His sincerity knees Tyler in the gut.

Tyler’s mouth is full of saliva and barely consumed booze, spilling over his lips onto the asphalt; Josh doesn’t jump away, holding Tyler by the shoulders and letting him spew out the rest of it. He’s stuffed full of flies and spiders falling out into a frothy puddle, only covering his mouth for a moment so Josh can haul him to a sidewalk garbage can where all of it starts again.

They sit down onto the bench, Tyler can’t even breathe without feeling his insides jolt.

 _He was about to hook up with a stranger._  

“I’m not a whore,” Tyler chokes up. “Well if only… _Metaphorically.”_

Josh keeps holding Tyler’s head above the trash when he pukes again.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says. “I’d pay to understand what’s going on in your brain.”

This may be a compliment, but Tyler doesn’t want to take a risk of talking. Now Josh is the one who’s forced to clean his sneakers since Tyler couldn’t keep it down, and some nasty splashes decorate them here and there. His own Vans don’t look great either.

Everything gets even more hazy; Josh gives him a hoodie that smells like gas and his peppermint gum. Tyler doesn’t know for how long they’ve been sitting here, because well, he’s a bit absent-minded. Josh says something about taking Tyler to the van so he can sleep there until they make it to the motel. Tyler is drowsy, he agrees with everything he hears.

Tyler falls asleep when Josh spirals into another round of apologies and checking his nose.

 

***

Morning comes with troubles.

A splitting headache is flattening out Tyler’s brain; his eardrums might burst from the roaring in his skull. His eyelids are dry and itchy; he’s in the same motel room, wearing yesterday’s clothes plus Josh’s hoodie with cartoonish people on it. He’s both alive and dead, and it’s the creepiest mix he could’ve ever experienced. Sickness comes and goes in waves, Tyler turns his face to the pillow to save himself from the sunlight.

With the back of his head, he feels Josh’s presence.

“I tried to wash the blood off your t-shirt,” Josh says instead of a _good morning._ “Still stained, but you can wear it inside-out.”

Tyler feels like he’s done what he hasn’t planned. He sits up carefully, holding his head with one hand; his mouth still tastes like tequila and gastric acid.

“H-how did you find me?”

“Maps, intuition and a bit of savvy,” Josh responds, still standing in the doorway. “Had to gut your pockets to find the keys with this motel’s emblem. You looked so pathetic I fell for you.”

This is a little too much so Tyler throws on a mask of sarcasm.

“You know, I’m so full of shit that even my eyes are brown.”

“Shitty color,” Josh nods. “You’re just full of yourself.”

Tyler wants to take his painkillers to alleviate his hangover, he’s not sure if he’s got any pills left. His bones are aching, he’s groggy although even more sleep isn’t going to cure him. He’s rusted from all the cocktails he’s had last night.

It’s time for confessions.

“That girl,” Tyler says. “Remember her? She was so ready to… do something, but I couldn’t get hard. Just. _Couldn’t._ I’m _so_ pathetic, you’re right.”

The shame is overwhelming, but Josh doesn’t bat an eye.

“This happens. Sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you in the balls with that phrase about your religious standards.”

“You only meant to bust my nose,” Tyler catches Josh’s glance, full of guilt. “Nevermind. It’s not broken.”

He feels like a crud now, although Josh still cares about his health and clothes; Josh gives him a pill and _get better and we’re leaving this dead town._

Tyler is ready.

 

***

“Are you serious?!”

Tyler’s mouth is gaping as he’s holding a new car radio in his hands.

“Yep. You know, it was crying in the shop alone, and I couldn’t leave it there,” Josh is excited, too. “Take it home, man.”

Tyler presses the present to his chest, he didn’t expect their stop at the gas station to turn this way. Josh tosses the packs with snacks into the backseat, singing the song under his breath again. Now Tyler can fill an empty slot, he can listen to music — he can create music.

Later in the evening, he takes his long-forgotten ukulele out of the backpack — he still needs to buy a case for it — and touches the strings. He touches the strings of Josh’s soul, certainly, because _honestly we’re probably more suicidal than ever now._

Tyler’s body is plummeting, but his broken-winged song is learning to fly. It may join a flock of another ones one day; he knows that Josh will never learn the lyrics, but it’s not a big deal. Josh is listening to him with his very being, tapping the rhythm on the mattress. No one has ever cared about the weight on Tyler’s shoulders before; now he lays a part of it on Josh who seems to absorb it.

Tyler feels _clean._

Josh applauds.

“It’s like... You’ve reincarnated so many times already man, you’ve lived so many lives, picking the grains of wisdom out of each. I don’t have other words to explain your talent.”

Tyler is not ashamed of his girlish voice when he sings for Josh; Tyler is not ashamed of the themes he’s picking. _No hope,_ _no fear,_ he used to think. Now he might resort his priorities.

“I had to quit my job to take you on a ride,” Josh utters. “It was the best decision I’ve ever made. Don’t think I’m a stalker, no, you are just… noticeable. Offbeat and hesitant. Depressed. And I thought you needed to unwind, to splash out your wrath in every place on the planet to get rid of it.”

Josh pokes the carpet with his socked toe.

Tyler didn’t expect such deep words from him.

“Sorry, I had to write this speech on the paper not to make a fool of myself,” Josh pats his jeans’ pocket. “That’s just who I am. And when I saw you with that wide red line on your neck, I got it. I had to distract you.”

Tyler puts the ukulele aside.

“Like shock-therapy.”

“We can head back home if you’re sick of me already.”

Tyler would’ve never found the guts to do something like this _without Josh._

“I think I got used to it,” he says. “Can’t survive without the smell of gas anymore. In a good way.”

Josh chuckles softly.

“So you’re an addict then?”

Tyler scratches his elbow.

“A little.”

“Charming,” Josh seems to forget all the poetic words again. “Don’t get overdosed.”

Tyler wouldn’t mind to get overdosed on Josh.

 

***

They stop to do the laundry.

Tyler’s sitting on the washer, waiting for it to make their clothes pristine, and Josh is reading; he still hasn’t made it to the middle of the book, but Tyler doesn’t want to mock him anymore.

He offers to go to the bar instead.

He’s surprised to get a _no._

“Why?”

“I know what you’ve been taking,” Josh looks at him over the book. “No more alcohol, dude.”

Tyler thought Josh didn’t notice an orange bottle falling out of the pocket of his jeans.

“...and we’re gonna eat only organic food from now on?”

“I’m not that violent.”

Tyler used to destroy a part of himself every time he blinks, his life used to be all about fake faith and forgery; now he feels wide awake. All the emotions feel real — even his rage that makes the capillaries in his eyeballs burst. It makes him feel so alive now: his tensed up nerves and his upset stomach; Josh has witnessed a lot of repellent things, but he sticks around even though they’ve been running through every cliche over the course of their trip.

Tyler’s goals used to be just melting dreams, but now he’s sewing himself together like a rag doll. He doesn’t want to have the scars where the stitches were supposed to be.

Josh says that he saw a few of Tyler’s family fights when Tyler was running out of the house and screaming blasphemous things.

He was going down and breaking down every so often.

Once lost, he’s found now.

 

***

Tyler kisses Josh on his Birthday.

It’s just a little bonus for his present — Tyler informs Josh that he’s going to a tattoo-artist today; it’s a rather long session to make the tree on Josh’s arm grow bigger and touch the sky on his shoulder.

Josh is happy to the Moon and back.

And, the kiss.

Tyler is mindful of the tattoo-protective film on Josh’s hand as he hugs him in their room in _Rabbit Ears_ motel. They’ve just had their dinner to celebrate it, but Josh is still curious.

“How did you know?”

“I know how to unlock your phone,” Tyler uncovers the mystery. “I found the calendar.”

Josh laughs.

“I know how to unlock yours, too. Can’t wait until December.”

Tyler likes their plans.

Tyler likes their jokes between the kisses, Tyler likes to _not_ fall into a pool of self-flagellation every time Josh touches him _there_ through his pants. Tyler wants to be another little bonus as he presses Josh’s hips to the mattress, grinding into him; Josh is clearly ready for more.

But Josh doesn’t ask for more.

Still enthralled about kissing, Tyler unzips his jeans.

When he’s about to pull his underwear down, Josh stops him, Tyler’s wrist is locked in Josh’s fingers. Josh tugs him down to lay on the bed next to him; Tyler throws his leg over Josh’s hip not to lose the contact.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s great,” Josh whispers into Tyler’s lips. “I just don’t have the lube.”

And Tyler replies —

“I do.”

He says it, because he doesn’t want to ruin Josh’s Birthday; growing up in a religious family had an impact on his beliefs so he hasn’t been preparing himself yet.

“I know, but…”

“I’m not that old-fashioned,” Tyler says. “We can just not to go this far.”

This is a point where both of them feel comfortable.

Tyler used to believe that his first time was going to be a special moment, after the marriage only — this is what his parents were putting into his head. Now he’s in the bed with the dude he’s not even married to, trembling with arousal; Josh touches Tyler’s unzipped fly, caressing his dick through his boxers, and Tyler mirrors his move. He’s just learning to love, he’s loud and reckless; maybe he’s too old to grind his crotch against Josh’s until both of them coming in their pants, but he doesn’t care.

He lets Josh touch his ass and his sides, snort into the crook of his neck, kissing him, melting him. Tyler spreads his legs, and Josh crawls in between his thighs like he would have done if both of them were naked.

Josh knows how to make it.

Tyler comes with Josh’s palm cupping his boner atop of his underwear, Josh’s calluses feel rough through the thin fabric. Tyler is sticky and wet in all the ways he’s been before, in his dreams that were making him wake up with his pajama pants soiled.

He doesn’t feel ashamed when he sees a dark stain spreading on his gray boxers.

Josh is on top of him again, kissing his Adam’s apple, biting into his collarbones and rubbing himself against Tyler’s softening dick; the laces in Josh’s green-black gym shorts tickle Tyler’s abdomen. Josh doesn’t take his shorts off when Tyler places his hand on the bulge, squeezing slightly and seeing Josh’s bare chest spasming as he releases a strangled groan.

Josh grips at the pillows on both sides of Tyler’s head, holding himself on his outstretched hands not to smash Tyler’s nose.

Tyler squirms underneath him.

“Happy Birthday.”

 

***

Getting their names tattooed on each other is Tyler’s initiative.  

They go to a tattoo-parlor in Salt Lake City, they get two pairs of black rubber gloves and a tattoo-machine from the hands of a laughing artist. Poor guy is bewildered as Tyler pulls his joggers down his thighs and Josh tattoos his name on his skin peeking from underneath the pant leg of his boxer briefs.

Josh is nervous; his hand slips, so he writes a _jOSH._

Tyler admires it and yanks his pants back.

Josh is wearing shorts so it’s easy to mark him with a **_TYLER_** _._

“Do you know what it means?” Josh asks.

Tyler rips the rubber gloves off.

“What?”

“Even if we break up, we can now only date dudes named Tyler and Josh,” Josh smiles. “We’re doomed ones, bro.”

Tyler smiles back.

He will never need _another_ Josh.

 

***

Tyler is grateful that Josh was the last person he met before his non-committed suicide. Now he can rely on the goal of their journey — Josh wants to make Tyler believe the world can not only be hostile, that Tyler doesn’t have to be an adversary to himself.

 _Handsome,_ Josh likes to call him. _But still nerdy._

Tyler responds his mother’s calls.

They keep travelling across the USA, they’re visiting new places and meeting new people; they kiss on the Ferris Wheel and dance in the bars and clubs — no alcohol, as promised.

Tyler performs at the Open Mic night in Seattle with his ukulele — he sings his own songs and covers, he’s shaking in front of the audience, but they chant the lyrics along — _we’re broken, we’re broken people_. Tyler doesn’t confuse left and right, he doesn’t want to be one of those ignorant lead singers. Josh is supporting him, he’s on stage too, sitting on a drum cajon box and catching the beat. They do their bows, and Josh is right again — Tyler has left a part of himself in every city he’s visited, and now the therapy finally works.

“Are you a couple?” the girl asks Josh after their short set.

Josh throws his arm over Tyler’s shoulder.

“Don’t we look like one?”

Tyler isn’t afraid to admit the existence of their relationship either.

They still have too many cities to ride across, too many hotel rooms to sleep in — they even start getting invitations from clubs and other venues to play there. When Josh asks _where do you want to live, dude?_ Tyler replies _everywhere._

“Everywhere where our music is needed.”

Tyler’s notebook grows thicker feeding on the drafts of new songs.

They’re not just alive, they’re _living._

 

***

Maybe Tyler is still not awake even though the night was sleepless, maybe it’s just a conscience — he sees the truck on their tail on their way to New-Mexico, he wants to pull over and let it overtake their van.

“Josh,” Tyler pokes his shoulder.

Josh opens his eyes.

“What?”

“That dude is crazy, buckle up,” Tyler points his finger at the speeding up truck.

Josh looks out of the window and curses.

“I bet he _can’t_ slow down.”

A pastel landscape turns to a horror-movie scene. After a few seconds of chasing, Tyler honks and tries to avoid the collision; the tires don’t get a grasp on the road anymore, as if there’s an invisible ice crust on it. The truck turns to the side, too; it smashes the back of their van in a swift motion, pushing them to the roadside and then into a shallow gully. Tyler screams, he presses the brake pedal, but it’s out of his bounds. One of the trees on their way is a final stop.

The dent in the door doesn’t let Tyler ease the seatbelt slashing his torso in two.

The last thing he sees is Josh’s blood spilling onto the side window.

 

***

Tyler is awake, but he can’t move.

He is greeted by a blurred figure in the top left corner, creeping down the ceiling with its red eyes throwing rays of sinister light.

 _No,_ Tyler prays. _Not again._

He’s paralysed, he can’t even close his eyes — his heart is hammering in between his ribs while the creature is going down, and down, and down —

Tyler’s soul goes up, leaves his body and then gets back, and he forces his slack muscles to wake up as well. He’s terrified of what’s around the corner; the room is white and blue, the curtains are covering the window. Tyler’s half lying in a hospital bed wearing a too loose hospital gown, his left arm is trapped in an immobilizing sling. He sits up hastily, his head goes so dizzy he nearly vomits on his lap. _He’s seen Josh’s blood._

Tyler gets up and flies into the wall, clambering to a door and pushing it open. He has no shoes on, the crook of his elbow is bandaged — after the injections, he can assume.

“No, no, you’re not allowed to get up!”

Tyler turns to the voice and sees the nurse running to him down the hallway. She takes his right hand gently and tries to lead him back to his ward.

“Josh,” Tyler ignores her. “Where’s Josh?”

She doesn’t respond; Tyler gets distracted by the fight down the hall — another nurse, a tall sturdy guy tries to calm another patient down. Tyler squints and sees a colorful tattoo on their arm; they’re barefoot, wearing a hospital gown similar to Tyler’s.

“Tyler!”

Tyler leans against the wall at the sudden gush of weakness washing over him; Josh is here, Josh can _walk,_ and Josh overcomes the distance pretty fast, catching Tyler by the plastic chairs in the hallway.

The nurses exchange glances before the guy takes his clipboard and leaves.

“Mr. Joseph and Mr. Dun. A car crash on I-84 E, seventeen miles away from Idaho Falls. A clavicle fracture and concussion, but well, nothing serious,” the girl says. “A local biker sent us the coordinates so the ambulance arrived right in time.”

The name of Tyler’s injury makes his collarbone pulsate with pain.

Josh’s head is bandaged.

“I think I lost my last three brain cells,” he says.

Tyler raises his eyebrow.

“Do you still remember how to read?”

“Luckily. I think I forgot my middle name though.”

Tyler takes his hand with skinned knuckles.

“I think you’re good then.”

This moment is almost domestic; though Josh is still pale, the bags under his eyes have transformed to bruises.

“Please, let me take you back to your wards,” the nurse almost pleads. Your parents are going to visit you.”

Josh winces as the fluorescent lights shine brighter.

“Oh no,” Tyler feels all giddy again. “Can we at least meet them in one ward? Please. It’s gonna be a tough conversation.”

He’s never met Josh’s parents, and well, he couldn’t find even more inappropriate moment.

The nurse rolls her eyes.

 

***

Tyler doesn’t want to talk about God.

Their families had to take the first available flight.

His mother is crying, and Josh’s mother is rubbing her back while their fathers are standing next to the wall in the hospital ward. Tyler’s holding his ukulele in his good arm — the instrument isn’t even cracked, it’s his talisman now.

“When we got these news I thought — please, don’t take him, we can’t lose him,” Tyler’s mother hiccups up, wiping her eyes. He’s never seen her this emotional. “And I thought — don’t take Tyler’s friend too.”

“Thanks Mom,” Tyler says. “Who knows, maybe your prayer saved us.”

Or maybe it was that souvenir Bible.

Josh’s mother purses her lips.

“Our sons are alive, Kelly. This is all that matters.”

She comes and pulls Josh into a hug; he grouches when she touches his neck. Josh’s father shakes Tyler’s hand with a _nice to meet you;_ he doesn’t give off any homophobic vibes. It’s calming. They have to spend the night at the hospital, and then they’re allowed to get back to the hotel where their parents have stayed. Tyler wonders how many rooms they have to book for all of their relatives.

But it’s not a problem now.

Later, they’re granted with more good news — Josh is going to get a pay insurance for his damaged van, and the truck driver is going to pay them for meds and stuff as a compensation. He comes to visit them in a Regional Medical Center with the guiltiest facial expression Tyler has ever seen. Josh says that he has a _walrus mustache_ — out loud, but the man just laughs at this.

When all the papers are signed and all the surveys are finished, Tyler is allowed to stay in Josh’s ward.

“Wow. Now we have money for travelling some more,” is the first thing Josh says when they’re alone.

“We can use my car now,” Tyler offers. “We even have a car radio, remember?”

Josh adjusts the bandages on his head.

“Everything’s going well then.”

Tyler thinks of the notebook under his pillow.

They have the whole world to discover.

**Author's Note:**

> you have to really love this band to travel /this far/, right?  
> \---  
> this could be a ~lovely/going down~ song fic but well. mentioned briefly.  
> \---  
> thanks to rein and pantaloonwarrior for listening to my rant!!  
> \---  
> THANKS FOR READING!!!


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